


Perfection

by JenCforCarolina



Series: Soldier Keep On [3]
Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, destiny exo, destiny warlock, warlock guardian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenCforCarolina/pseuds/JenCforCarolina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starlight Challenge prompt:<br/>╔════════════════════════════════╗</p><p>      They were perfect cities without the people to populate them.</p><p>╚════════════════════════════════╝<br/>A bit of Selene’s history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> [Find it on tumblr](http://jencforcarolina.tumblr.com/post/124754026728/perfection)

“Wow.” Your mentor says, staring down at your home. “That place was pretty big. Amazing it survived as long as it did.”

“It barely survived.” You spit, simulating a tone of disdain. “Barely.”

She glances at you, a signal she wants you to elaborate but knows you don’t want to, so she won’t ask and will let you tell her. It’s an invitation, one she ought to know by now won’t be acted upon.

Instead you too stare down at the mess of buildings. The towering walls of the Factory in the east, the barracks to the west, the slums to the north. Those dirty, smog filled slums where you lived in an enclave between buildings, behind a wooden palette spray painted blue by a friend of yours. Where you rested on sacks filled with sawdust and dust. Where He would come find you and you would sit and talk to the rhythm of poor quality pop soundtracks about impossible life and possible death and unlikely freedom.

The mid city was where the slums met the more respectable neighborhoods. You and your crew would hang across the street from the city’s only music store, sensors set to long range to pick up and record the songs so you could listen to them at your own leisure. Songs lost when you died. You don’t remember them, only that you had them once.

(Despite yourself you have begun filling the space where they were with the songs Auburn plays from her ship in transit.)

The barracks where they called you and all your kin. Sat you in rows and told you that you were soldiers, were made to be soldiers. That you had to fight the war that was coming, that had been upon the world for centuries but was only just reaching here. They said that it was your destiny.

The barracks where you revolted. Where you stood as a people and demanded to be treated as such.

The city where you were shunned. The city that was falling apart without any help from you or the rest of the revolt. The city where you hid.

The city that fell. The city with no militia. They had relied on your kin and you had told them no. Make your own army. The city that did not listen, the city full of people so uptight about their place in the world that they couldn’t bear the thoughts of their human sons and daughters fighting. The city that was overrun. The city where He died. The city you ran from.

Sunlight reflects on the factory windows. They burn orange. The city is a uniform rusty red but doesn’t look like rust from this distance. There is no more smog. Sprouts of green peek from between buildings. You can imagine it is landscaping lining avenues, not the wilderness taking back your home.

It is beautiful. It melts into the valley surrounding it, cradled, serene.

It is perfect, now that a hundred years have passed, and everyone is dead.


End file.
